


A Day of Firsts

by Anonymous



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, F/F, Face-Sitting, First Time, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Tribadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sansa accidentally catches Arya masturbating and can't help but watch.





	A Day of Firsts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).

The first time Sansa catches Arya masturbating it’s by accident. She’s walking by Arya’s door when she hears a soft sound from within, a sound that’s repeated again a moment later, louder this time: definitely a moan. Upon seeing that Arya’s door is unlatched and slightly open, Sansa’s heart races as she suddenly fears the worst, but glancing through the cracked door, Sansa’s fear turns to startled embarrassment, her eyes widening as she sees Arya lying naked on her bed, legs spread wide, one hand groping her breast, while the other rubs between her spread thighs.

Sansa knows she shouldn’t be watching this, that she should leave, but she finds herself rooted to the spot, heart racing as she twists her suddenly sweaty hands into her skirts. She can only see Arya in profile at this angle but a guileless part of her wishes suddenly that she can see more. The guilt that follows at the thought isn’t enough to make her move away though. Even as heat begins to pool low in her belly, as she shifts her hips uncomfortably as she begins to grow wet, a surge of shame hits her. She is not a Targaryen or a Lannister to have such unnatural thoughts about a relative, yet still she doesn’t move.

Arya’s movements grow faster, her fingers squeezing her breast harder, her hips rocking as her sounds get louder, her chest heaving. And then suddenly she cries out loudly, her body freezing as her thighs visibly tremble, her stomach twitching. Sansa hates the surge of jealousy that shoots through her at the sight. Why can’t she have that? She flees suddenly, hating her weakness, not noticing the way that Arya tilts her head towards the door and smiles.

That night Sansa is enjoying the heat of her bath when she hesitantly gives her breasts a squeeze, thumbs brushing over her hardening nipples as she mimics what she’s seen Arya do. She gasps at the sudden spike of heat that seems to shoot straight between her legs. Digging her fingers in harder, making her flesh bulge between them as Arya had done too, she lets go instantly as she remembers other fingers cruelly digging into her, bruising her for weeks and weeks. She snarls in frustration, still bearing the scars from Ramsay both inside and out.

Rising suddenly, Sansa nearly shrieks as someone appears at her side. “How did you get in here?” Sansa demands upon seeing that it’s Arya, that damned knowing smirk on her face.

“I thought I’d have a bath with my sister, so I picked the lock. We haven’t done this since we were children.”

“We’re not children anymore. This is far from proper,” Sansa says, but Arya ignores her words and pulls off her tunic and trousers, showing that she’s wearing nothing beneath them. Sansa knows once more that she should look away, but she can’t. This is her baby sister, once her greatest annoyance, once thought long dead and gone, returned to her greatly changed, but still family.

Arya’s breasts are larger, full and round, nipples hard and inviting, her hips wider, and the thatch of hair between her thighs much darker. Her scars don’t inspire the revulsion that they once would and instead cause sorrow, that Arya’s been through so much that Sansa doesn’t even know. Sansa opens her mouth to ask, but Arya beats her to it.

“I know you were watching. Did you enjoy the show?”

Sansa’s face flames as red as her hair, her blood freezing at Arya’s words. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

Arya moves closer, standing at the edge of the tub before casually stepping in. “What if I want you to watch? What if I want you to touch?” Arya grabs Sansa’s hand and pulls it between her thighs, pushing her fingers between the hidden folds.

Sansa gasps as she feels the wetness there, and instead of pulling away as she should, she curls her fingers curiously, exploring. “We shouldn’t,” she says as she slips her fingers into her sister’s welcoming body.

Arya steps closer, pressing their bodies together, her hard nipples pressing against Sansa’s skin as she gives her a wicked smile. “It’ll be our secret.” Sansa watches as Arya barely has to drop her head to take one of Sansa’s peaked nipples between her lips. Sansa gasps at the unexpected jolt of pleasure.

Sansa doesn’t quite remember how they move from the bath to the bed, how Arya urges her to quite literally sit on her face, and Sansa bites back her moans and tries not to smother her sister as her tongue slides across her so intimately. Arya’s strong hands curl over Sansa’s thigh as she begins to rock her hips as the tightness in her belly continues to grow. She shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels so good that she can’t bring herself to stop.

It’s Arya tongue flicking oh so skillfully over that newly discovered bundle of nerves hidden within her folds that pushes her over the edge. Sansa barely has the presence of mind to cover her mouth to stifle her scream as she hunches over suddenly, shaking bodily as pleasure the likes of which she’d never thought possible steals her senses. Her cunt spasms and she feels a rush of fluid spill from her as she continues to tremble from the force it.

Sansa gasps, still shaking, as Arya suddenly rolls her and pushes her down on her back, climbing on top of her as she straddles her waist. Arya’s face is covered with wetness, and the possessive thrill that fills Sansa is startling. Arya shift again, slipping one thigh beneath Sansa’s and shifting until their cunts press together before she begins to rub, sliding their sensitive flesh together. Sansa gasps at the friction, the way that she can feel her little pearl of hard flesh slide against Arya’s, her pleasure rising again as their wetness allows them to slide together so easily.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sansa says as she gives into temptation, grabbing each of Arya’s swaying breasts, surprised by the weight of them.

“You don’t need to lie,” Arya says with a soft moan.

“I’m not.”

Arya shoots her a glare, but moans as Sansa suddenly pinches her nipples experimentally. Arya’s movements quicken, and Sansa does it again, committing the way she looks to memory: the shine of her fluids on her face, the way she worries her bottom lip between pants, the way her face begins to scrunch, her movements faltering as she begins to tremble with pleasure. Sansa rocks her hips, chasing her own orgasm. Something that feels this good certainly can’t be wrong, can it?


End file.
